


All That Leather and Nowhere To Go

by jibrailis



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-29
Updated: 2010-03-29
Packaged: 2017-10-08 09:53:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jibrailis/pseuds/jibrailis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zevran shows his appreciation for his new boots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That Leather and Nowhere To Go

**Author's Note:**

> I play my RPGs all the same way: lasciviously. This fic is based on a female Dwarf Noble Warden, whose default name is Sereda.

He fucked her the first time wearing only the boots.

If you asked Zevran how it came to be, he'd say he didn't particularly care. Sex was sex, right? Who cared what road you took getting to it, even the long and windy roads like the ones leading out of Haven. Forget that: _especially_ the long and windy roads leading out of Haven. Zevran had walked that entire way on tired boots whose soles had gotten torn during their lovely little run-in at the Ruined Temple and—

Okay, fucking first. Travel complaints later.

Sereda tightened her legs around his hips. Her hair was surprisingly red now that he got to see it without her helm. He could grab handfuls of delightful thick curls, could rub his calloused fingers against all the strands. Sereda got wild when he did that. Made him think that she wasn't too experienced in bed. Not a virgin, because he'd seen her in the Pearl and how she'd looked at that one whore and actually licked her lips – and oh, how Zevran's spine had gotten hot at that. He'd wanted to pull her away from those second rate pieces and show her what it was like to be fucked by a champion, to be fucked the way her precious Alistair could never do.

But he hadn't. Not then. Sereda was prickly and proud, and he'd felt the sweet edge of her sword at his neck before.

After the Urn, though, she was different. He couldn't figure out why. She was a dwarf and dwarves had their own religion. The Urn and the Gauntlet and Andraste – none of that should have meant anything to her. But it did, somehow, because she was quiet and thoughtful when they made camp the first night. Then the second. Then the third. A week later, she was still acting all distant. Not coming up to him by the campfire and prodding him with questions about Antiva and the Crows, gazing at him with those steely eyes.

Alistair said she was a new Warden. Please! Sereda had the stare of a goddamn veteran.

Zevran would know. He'd fucked one before, when he was still a Crow in training, and so horny that he'd gone with the man down the alley and let himself be screwed against the wall, his wrists cording in the bearded Warden's grasp.

So now it was two Grey Wardens that he'd fucked.

Compared to the man in the alley, Sereda was steam and fire. He hadn't guessed it, not until she'd come out of her tent to find him still up and awake, lingering by the dinner ashes while everybody else was supposed to be asleep.

"Planning to kill us and make away with the goods?" she'd asked, and it was hard to tell if she was joking.

He'd smiled. A dashing rogue to the end. "Now, now. You've spoiled my plans. You better make it up to me."

"Wait just a moment," she'd said. She ducked inside her tent. When she returned she had a pair of Antivan boots, doeskin soft, the leather of his dreams. "I found these in the village store at Haven," she'd said, tossing them at him. Zevran caught both boots easily.

"Ah yes…that smell," he said, bringing the leather close to his nose. "Just like rotting flesh. Now if I had a prostitute, some fish chowder, and a corrupt politician, I'd really feel at home."

That earned a smile from Sereda. She'd left the flap of her tent and come closer to him. If he didn't know any better, he'd say her hips swung. Gone was the pensiveness, the faint remorse. It was as if she'd finally made a decision. Good for her, Zevran thought, and started stripping off his old leather boots to try on the new ones.

"That's payment enough?" Sereda asked him. Her voice was unusually low and they'd flirted before, but never like this. Suddenly, he understood. He could have lost his balance then, but Zevran was good at balance. And seduction. He'd grown up among whores. He was good at seeing need and want and opening himself up to take advantage of it. Sereda was a dwarf and a Warden, neither of which were normally associated with sexy times, but she wanted him. He saw that now, and he smiled with his incisors.

"You could do more," he'd agreed, and after he was sure that no one was watching – indeed, that was Leliana snoring in her tent – he bent down and kissed her.

Sereda had surged into the kiss. The height difference between an elf and a dwarf was unusual for Zevran, but he liked unusual. He'd never said no to a challenge with a woman before. They'd kissed, wet and heavy, and he let his hand trail over the fine hairs at the back of her neck. She shuddered and her own hands dug into Zevran's hipbones insistently. He rocked his groin against her, wanting to see how far she would take it. Far, was the answer. She'd actually started _grinding_ against Zevran's thigh, and okay, that was hot. She looked dazed when he finally pulled his mouth away from hers, but when he quirked an eyebrow at her, her expression turned purposeful. She'd started pushing him to her tent.

And now it was his turn to push. In and out of her, sweat and musk, his hands buried in her mage fire hair. He was naked except for the boots, and he dug the soles into the dirt as he thrust up into Sereda, bowing her back like a sickle. She had two of her fingers in his mouth, and he was sucking on them hard, biting down until there was the salty venom of blood on his teeth – and she only groaned and pushed her fingers deeper.

He spread her thighs – hairy, like he'd known she would be – and fucked her as long as he was capable, which was very, very long indeed. And the wondrous thing about Sereda was that she could match him in stamina. Her battlefield prowess translated into long, hard sex on the ground, and she didn't falter even as the minutes passed and he showed no sign of letting down. If anything, she got wilder. Her cool composure fragmented and she began letting out these _moans_. Full-throated and unselfconscious. She never spoke in words. Never told Zevran what she wanted and how good she was getting it, but her moans were her language, and he navigated them to slip against her sweet spot and roll his hips.

He wanted her to remember this. She may have held his life and loyalty in her belt buckle, but damn it, she was going to remember after tonight that he could make her pant for it like a dockside pretty. He could fill her up, all the man she could take and then some. Sereda would know later what she was missing. Her and that milksop Alistair might have had something going on -- Alistair certainly stared after her with his particular alloy of yearning and total social ineptitude -- but it was Zevran she went to when she wanted to be fucked. No romantic words, no declarations of hope. Just dirty, delicious sex, the kind she needed because try as she might, she wasn't meant for Alistair's world. She was Zevran's kind of girl.

Sereda bellowed when she came, tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes as her back lifted off the ground and she pressed against him roughly, nonsensically. Her hips were jerking so beautifully but he forced them down as he took the last of his pleasure, pushing and pushing and pushing into her red centre until he hissed, cursed, and emptied himself inside of her.

She was quiet again afterwards, watching him put on his clothing. He liked the wanton Sereda better, so he couldn't help but muse, "You know we probably woke everybody up, right? And when I say we, I mean you. You get to explain to Shale what we were doing."

If he'd been hoping to make her blush, he would have counted it as a failure. Sereda stared at him straight-on and then smiled.

"Maybe Shale will be interested."

He affected a shudder. "Maker protect us."

Her hair was still loose. His fingers missed the loss. But that way laid disaster and Zevran wasn't the kind of man to stupidly court disaster. Not anymore, anyway. So he grinned at Sereda, did up the last lace on his pants, and left her tent whistling. Let the others hear. Hey, maybe Morrigan or Leliana would take a cue. Couldn't hurt. Always look to the future, right?

Him and his new boots.


End file.
